A FEW days more, and solitude and silence seemed to have fallen on Woodlands. The whole party had dispersed. Mrs. Roberts had come back from paying a visit to her sister, and even the Stanleys had returned home. Leila had felt the parting with so many kind friends a good deal, and the holidays seemed to her now as but one bright day too quickly past. But there were alleviations; Sherborne Park, the residence of Mr. Herbert, was but an hour’s ride from Woodlands; Leila could now manage Selim with ease; Charles was still to be one week more at home, and on the first Saturday after the breaking up of the party, he promised to be early at Woodlands on his pony, to escort Mr. Howard and Leila to Sherborne Park: besides this, her joy and thankfulness at having recovered Peggy and her dear Dash, bid defiance to all approaches to any depression of spirits. She was buoyant as ever, and each morning, on her way to her Aunt Stanley’s, she stopped for a few moments at Peggy’s cottage to say a few kind words to her, and bring joy and sunshine to the old woman’s heart.

Most of the neighbouring families had called at Woodlands; amongst others, Mr. and Mrs. Mildmay, with their daughter Lydia. Leila liked Lydia’s appearance; she was a pretty looking girl, remarkably well dressed, with a beautiful complexion, fine hair, and a very animated expression of face; she praised every thing she saw, was delighted with the pets, said they were happy creatures to have such a dear, pretty little mistress, and kissed Leila twice at parting, and hoped they would always be great friends. Leila was much gratified, and was tempted for the first time to think Selina might be wrong, and too hasty in her judgments. She was made very happy a few days after, by her Aunt Stanley telling her she had obtained her papa’s consent to her remaining to dinner, as Mr. Mildmay, having county business with Mr. Stanley was, with his wife and daughter, to dine with them that day.

It was a very agreeable day to Leila; she liked Lydia more and more. She had now quite made up her mind to think Selina’s character of her a mistaken one. Lydia seemed full of heart and affection for all of them, but apparently to prefer Selina to the others; always listening when she spoke, and always declaring that she must know best, and in all their little discussions coming over to her way of thinking. But Leila would have been the first to retract the too favourable opinion she had formed, had she been present at a conversation which took place in the school-room before tea. Lydia and Matilda were alone together, they had been talking of Leila. “Yes,” Lydia said, “I don’t wonder you like her, she took my fancy very much; there is some life and spirit in her. I am sure I hope Selina will not make her as prim as she is herself, for she seems to have taken quite a passion for that dear sister of yours.”

Matilda’s colour mounted to her forehead. “I thought you were very fond of Selina,” she said, in an offended tone of voice; “I am sure you always talk to her as if you were.”

“And who tells you I am not?”

“You yourself do; you would not talk in that way of one you really liked. Ah, Lydia, that is not being sincere.” Selina’s warning came forcibly into her mind at that moment; but she was sorry she had said so much, for Lydia seemed extremely angry; looking very red, she said,

“Matilda, that idea would never have entered your head; I know who has——” She stopped, and with a changed expression of look and tone she continued, “But this is quite foolish, we are getting angry with each other for no reason whatever, for we are quite of the same opinion on this subject; I am sure you cannot have a higher opinion of Selina than I have. I only wish I could be more like her,” and she sighed heavily; “but still you must not be angry if I love my own little Matilda even more,” and she drew Matilda towards her, and kissed her cheek.

Matilda felt at this moment she would rather that she had not done so, but still she was gratified and flattered that one generally allowed to be so clever and accomplished as Lydia, and who was several years older than herself, should make quite a friend of her, and even often condescend to ask her advice. Had Matilda reflected further, she would have been aware that though she did so, she seldom or ever followed it. Lydia, in fact, always ended by taking her own way in every thing, though apparently yielding to the judgment of others. She now, as if to change the subject, observed, “What nice-looking books you have got on those shelves; your school-room always looks so cheerful and so comfortable. What a pretty book that seems to be at the top there; I should like to see it.”

“Oh, that is a beautiful book,” Matilda answered; “but it belongs to Mrs. Roberts. There are sketches in it which were drawn by her husband; she has the greatest value for it, and she shows it to us sometimes; but she has forbidden us ever to touch it when she is not by.”

“Oh, she is afraid, I suppose, of Alfred’s dirty little hands, for you know he is for ever grubbing in the earth, hunting after snails or spiders, or some such creatures; but a young lady’s hands are very different,” and she drew off her nice kid glove, and displayed her pretty little white hand, on which a beautiful ring sparkled which had often been Matilda’s admiration. “You cannot suppose,” she continued, “that she would have any objections to my looking at the book; and as she is so very obliging and good-natured, she will be quite gratified, I am sure, that I should admire her book.” She drew a chair towards her and was mounting upon it.

Matilda held her back. “Oh pray don’t,” she said; “I don’t wish to disobey Mrs. Roberts, and I promised not to touch or look at it when she was not by.”

“Well, don’t touch it, my little pattern miss,” Lydia said; “don’t touch it; put your hands behind your back, and then you can swear you did not; you need not even look at it; shut your eyes and turn your back, my pretty dear, and I will describe, to you the beautiful scenes as I turn over the pages; for I have no pleasure when it is not shared.” Then changing her tone of raillery, she continued: “But what has come over my little Matilda? I scarcely know her again—she that used to be so obliging and so affectionate towards me—have I indeed lost my little friend?”

“Oh, no, no!” Matilda exclaimed, and tears were in her eyes. “I am still your little friend; don’t be angry with me. You will love me again, won’t you?”

Lydia’s smile was that of triumph; but Matilda did not see it—she was now covering her eyes with her hands.

Lydia jumped up on the chair and took down the book; then gently removing Matilda’s hands, she said,—“Come, darling, don’t be foolish; let me see my sweet Matilda again; let us be friends as we have ever been.”

Poor Matilda! all her sense of what was right, all her good resolutions, vanished before Lydia’s bland smile. Selina’s repeated warnings, and yet more, the texts of the morning, had been entirely forgotten.—“Show me thy ways, O Lord; teach me thy paths.” And the answer: “Trust in the Lord with all thy heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding; in all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.” Alas! had she asked in sincerity to be shown His ways, to be guided in His paths? had she not leant to her own understanding, and listened to the voice of the tempter? how then could she expect that God would direct her ways when God was not in all her thoughts? She turned over the pages of the book for Lydia, she explained the sketches, and praised them extravagantly, with a confused idea that she was atoning to Mrs. Roberts in some degree by doing so, and she gave herself completely up to the enjoyment of the moment.

“Well,” Lydia said, as she turned the last page, “now we have finished; we have had our pleasure, and what the worse, I should like to know, is the pretty book of our admiration? Come, let us put it up again in the book-case.”

Matilda jumped up to assist her, and in her haste overturned an ink-glass on the table, which she herself had neglected to put into the inkstand again; a small portion of the ink fell on the beautiful binding of the book; Matilda was horror-struck.

“Oh! what shall I do? what shall I do?” she exclaimed, as she stood in helpless distress gazing upon it.

But Lydia did not lose her presence of mind for a moment; tearing out a sheet of blotting-paper from a book which lay before them, she quickly soaked up the ink, then seizing a sponge which Selina had been using for her drawing, she dipped it in a tumbler of water, and dexterously effaced almost every trace of the stain. The book was bound in white vellum, highly glazed, so that the ink had not sunk in, scarcely a trace of it was discernible.

“Now is not this well and cleverly done?” Lydia said. “Come, cheer up, Matilda, don’t think of it another moment; it was awkward enough in you, to be sure; but mum’s the word, and it never will be perceived; I must put it in the book-case again, and as far back as I can.” She was jumping up on the chair, but Matilda took the book from her hand and looked at it earnestly for a moment.

“Oh! you need not be afraid, and look so dismal; I really don’t think it possible it can be found out.”

Matilda still retained the book in her hand, and rose as if about to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” Lydia impatiently asked.

“To show this to Mrs. Roberts,” Matilda answered, timidly.

“To show it to Mrs. Roberts! Are you mad, Matilda? Surely you would not be such a fool—oh! I beg your pardon for calling you so; how mamma would be shocked if she heard me talking in this vulgar manner—there is nothing she dislikes so much as vulgarity. I beg your pardon, but you did put me in such a passion.” Then changing her tone from that of anger, she continued, mournfully,—“And so you would bring me into this scrape and get me punished, I who have ever loved you, ever been your friend—I who would have stood by you till the last moment! Oh, Matilda! but go—go and leave me.”

Matilda stood irresolute. She covered her face with her hands, the tears trickled down between her fingers, but she softly repeated to herself, “Trust in the Lord with all thy heart, and He shall direct thy path.” She removed her hands, she looked up, and in a firm voice she said,—“Lydia, it was I who overturned the ink, and it is I who shall bear the punishment;” and she left the room.

She found Selina and Leila with Mrs. Roberts; the expression of her face instantly arrested their attention. “What has happened, Matilda?” they both exclaimed; “what is the matter?”

She put them back with her hand, and steadily advancing to the table where Mrs. Roberts sat, she laid the book before her, and pointing to where the stain had been, she said,—“Mrs. Roberts, I spilt the ink upon your book; I am very sorry——” She tried to say more, she could not, she was weeping.

Mrs. Roberts looked much distressed. “Matilda,” she said, “it is not on account of any injury my book has sustained that I am so distressed—and indeed I do not think I should have observed it—but you have disobeyed my express command, and you have also broken your promise to me; for it was yourself who voluntarily gave that promise—I did not ask it of you.”

“Oh! yes; I remember that quite well; I have been very, very wrong; I deserve to be punished, and I will try to bear it well.”

Selina looked earnestly at her; then throwing her arms round her neck, she whispered,—“Tell me, dear Matilda, did Lydia ask you to show her that book?”

Matilda made no answer; she kissed Selina fondly, then turning round, she said,—“Mrs. Roberts, I know I must be punished, what do I deserve?”

“Not a very severe punishment, Matilda; for you have already lessened your fault by confessing it to me; and you will still further, I am sure, atone for it by confessing it to God and imploring His forgiveness. I see that you feel it deeply and are really penitent; I shall, therefore, leave your punishment with yourself. Say, then, what it shall be.”

Matilda stood for some moments looking on the ground, her colour varying at every moment. “I had rather that you should have punished me,” she said. “But if I do not come into the room to-morrow, or next day, or the next, when you read aloud to us, will that be enough, do you think? I assure you it will be a great punishment to me.”

Mrs. Roberts was in the habit of reading out some interesting story to them for an hour every day while they were employed in working for the poor. Matilda used to call it her happy hour, and the tears again filled her eyes at the thoughts of such a banishment. Mrs. Roberts saw it would indeed be punishment enough. She assented, and taking Matilda in her arms and kissing her, she said,—“You have my forgiveness, my child; now go to your room and ask forgiveness of your heavenly Father for your Saviour’s sake, and strength from the Holy Spirit to walk more and more in His blessed ways.”

When Matilda returned to the school-room a short time afterwards, to invite Lydia to go to tea, her countenance was quite cheerful again. Lydia looked at her attentively. “Well,” she said, “I see you have got it over, and well over; I only hope you have not committed me; what did you say, Matilda? how much did you tell?”

“I told only that I had spilt the ink on the book.”

“And you did not mention my name?”

“No, I did not.”

But Lydia seemed to understand the tone and manner in which those few words were said, and hastened to efface the bad impression she had made. “You are a generous, noble girl, Matilda,” she said, “and though younger, far better than I am; you must teach me to be like you;” she twined her arms fondly round her waist, and they left the room together.

As Matilda finished reading the Bible that evening, she closed the book, and sat for some minutes in deep thought. “Am I a noble, generous girl?” she asked herself; “and does Lydia really think so? perhaps she only said it to flatter me; I wish I really knew; I wish I could ask Selina,—that would be betraying Lydia. No, I am not a noble girl—I often do wrong things; I wish I had not liked the praise so much, or believed Lydia. I wish I did not like her so; perhaps she does me no good; but it is not kind to Lydia to think so.” She knelt down and said her prayers, and fervently she asked to be forgiven for her disobedience and for having broken her promise. She asked also to have the love of praise more taken out of her heart; to be meek and lowly like Him she was taught to serve; and she got into bed more peaceful, almost happy, and soon fell asleep.

Saturday came, and Charles was faithful to his appointment. It was a bright morning, every thing looked gay in the sunshine, the ground sparkled with a light frost; but Selim was the most sure-footed of ponies. Leila rode between her papa and Charles—how could she be afraid? She was in high spirits, it was her first ride of any considerable length; she was quite elated by the dignity of her situation, and every now and then she touched Selim lightly with her whip, and sprang on a few yards before the others, and then looked back and laughed at their grave looks. By degrees she became more bold, more anxious to show off before Charles, and to prove to him that she had become quite an excellent horsewoman. She touched Selim less gently—he sprang forward, and from a brisk canter was soon at full gallop, Leila’s light figure seeming as if raised every moment into mid air.

The others held back; they knew the danger of following too closely. “Oh, my child! my child!” Mr. Howard repeatedly exclaimed. It was to both a moment of extreme agitation, for a turn in the road now hid Leila from their sight. But Leila, though much frightened at first, did not lose her presence of mind. She allowed Selim to proceed for some time without opposition, then gently checked him as Charles had instructed her to do, the obedient animal first slackened his pace, and then stood entirely still. Her papa and Charles came up, both looking much alarmed. Charles did not speak, he was extremely pale. Leila looked at them both and burst into tears. “Oh! how I have frightened and distressed you,” she said; “I have been so wrong, so silly; do forgive me papa—do not be angry—I am so sorry.”

“You have indeed been wrong, and very imprudent,” Mr. Howard answered; “and you have much reason to be grateful for the escape you have made. You are far too ignorant a horsewoman to be aware of the danger you exposed yourself to; but don’t let us talk of it any more at present; you have now got a lesson which I am sure you will not forget; keep close to us, my dear child, for you are still far too inexperienced to be trusted for a moment alone.”

They now proceeded without further interruption. Mina was watching for them at the park gate, and ran by their side all up the approach, they walking their horses that they might keep pace with her, and Leila chatting to her as gaily as ever. Mrs. Herbert’s reception of them was all that was kind and affectionate, as she welcomed Leila to her second home; and in rambling with Charles and Mina all over the grounds, the day was passed in much enjoyment. The place was extensive and kept in the most beautiful order. Leila, however, did not admire it quite so much as Woodlands; but what interested her greatly was a small picturesque-looking church which stood in the grounds and its adjoining parsonage. With this scene she was delighted; and when Charles told her the parsonage would probably one day be his future home, as he wished to take holy orders, and the living was in his father’s gift, she thought she had never seen any thing so charming.

“And it looks so comfortable,” she said, “so much nicer than a large house. How I wish Woodlands were no bigger than this parsonage!—how happy will you be, Charles, when you have such a house, and when I come to visit here—you will often ask Mina and me to come to tea, and you will let us make tea for you, time about, won’t you?—But, Charles,” she continued, “you are not so merry as you used to be, and you don’t say you would be happy to see us to tea—ah! I know what it is; you are angry with me.”

“Angry with you, Leila?—oh, no! how can you think so?”

“Yes, because I know I deserve it; it was so foolish of me to wish you to admire me, and to think you would.”

“And do you think that would be so difficult, Leila?” he asked.

“I don’t know; I don’t understand about that; but I know you should not—you should not admire any thing vain, and I should not wish it; and if you are to be a clergyman, you know, you should teach me to be meek and lowly in heart. I am sure my papa will be so glad when I tell him you are to be a clergyman; for he will think, as you grow taller and older, you will help him to make me better. But if you are not angry with me, Charles, why are you so grave?—you have not told me that; what can you be thinking about?—do tell us!”

“I am thinking,” he answered, “how delightful all this is!” he continued; “and on Monday how the scene will be changed!”

“And why changed?” she inquired.

“Because on Monday I return to school, and there, instead of having you and Mina to talk to, I shall be surrounded by a parcel of such noisy fellows.”

“And you don’t like them, then?”

“O yes, I do; that is to say, some of them—some of them are excellent fellows and I like them very much; but don’t let us talk of them now, let us enjoy the present; Easter will come in time, and then I shall be home again. You won’t forget me, Leila? will you promise me that?”

“To be sure I will not, but it is needless to promise; do you think I could forget the only brother I have in the world? You know I have already told you, that now I do not think you too tall to be my brother; so you may grow as tall as ever you choose, and you will still always be my brother.”

When Leila was alone with her papa that evening, she immediately recurred to what had taken place during the ride.

“Papa,” she said, “I must have frightened you very much.”

“You did, indeed, my love; I was extremely alarmed. You were not aware of what the fatal consequences might have been, and very rash indeed to urge on Selim as you did.”

“Yes, and you will be more sorry, papa, when I tell you why—it was what you call the foot of pride—it entered into me, papa, and I did it all on purpose—yes, I whipped Selim on, that I might show off before Charles, and that he might admire my riding, and say how well I kept my seat: once I heard him say, that Selina kept her seat so well, and I wished him so much to say the same of me; you did not know this, papa?”

“Yes, my love, I was aware of your motive, and you may therefore suppose what my feelings must have been, when I thought my child’s life might fall a sacrifice to her vanity and love of admiration.”

“My life, papa?”

“Yes, my dear Leila, you might not be aware of all the risk you ran, but it was God’s goodness alone that saved you; for you braved the danger, and it was great.”

“O papa, how wrong I have been, and God might have punished me—He might even have taken my life, and He did not; yet He saw into my heart, and knew how vain and foolish I was—how can He love me, how can He forgive me?”

“My Leila, God cannot love the sin, yet has He compassion on the sinner. Do you remember what St. John says—‘So God loved the world, that He gave His only-begotten Son, to the end that all that believe in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life!’ and in the fourth chapter, he says, ‘Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us, and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins.’ Yes, my child, it is the righteousness of One who has never sinned, that is this propitiation, which has been procured for us. In our own strength we cannot walk; it is clad in the righteousness of our Saviour Jesus Christ alone, that we can stand in the presence of a pure and holy God; and we are also told, that ‘We have not an High Priest, which cannot be touched with a feeling of our infirmities; but was, in all points, tempted like as we are, yet without sin.’ You may meet with those who will tell you that vanity and pride are but trifling faults, mere human weaknesses; but do not listen to them—think often to what in your own case they might have led; and, above all, try to keep ever in your mind the example of Him whom you love and serve; think of His deep humility, His meekness, His lowliness of heart; for our blessed Saviour not only died for us, but He lived for us—He left the glory of His Father’s kingdom, to take our nature upon Him; that we might learn of Him; He has compassion on our weaknesses, for He knew them all, and it is His example that should ever dwell in our minds, as His sacrifice should ever dwell in our inmost hearts.”

“But, papa, I know this—I know that our Saviour Jesus Christ was humble and meek, and I know He can see into my heart, and yet I have been foolish and vain—it is so difficult—and then I am but a little child, how can I follow so great an example?”

“You can only do so by praying constantly for the grace of God to give you strength; He can make the hardest duty easy to you; and for your encouragement you should think also of how your blessed Saviour loved little children. Do you remember that when the disciples were disputing together who should be the greatest, our Lord set a child before them as an example of the simplicity and humility of which He approved, and which He wished them to imitate? Strive then, my dearest Leila, to become a meek and humble child, such as your Saviour loves; kneel before Him in all your weakness, and from Him you will receive strength to help in time of need.”

Leila threw her arms round her father’s neck, and softly whispered, “I will try, papa, and you will also pray for me.”